Aftermath and Chemistry
by Xx-3044-xX
Summary: Hermione Granger is pleased with her life - Draco Malfoy is just now piecing his together again. Their work brings them, and their relationship, to a new point. Until the Aftermath of the war threatens their world, they live in harmonic friendship. And when it threatens their lives, their Chemistry might be the thing to save them; now just the rest of the wizarding world to save!
1. Sighting

Hermione strode easily through the Ministry doors, her somewhat less-bushy-than-five-years-ago hair tied up in a bun at the base of her neck, a few loose tendrils whisping out around her ears, curling gently. Her skin, a warm peach color with faint pink traces on her cheeks, complimented her brown eyes nicely. But it was her smile that did it. She walked into work every day with a smile, no matter how bad the last day or attempt had gone. She loved her job. As Head of the Department of Magical Integration, a new Department on Level Nine at the Ministry of Magic, she got a lot of paperwork every day and had to either send people to or go on several attempts to diffuse prejudices and stop unfair hatred, and she was very good at it. She had only failed to crack one tough nut on the first visit - it took two meetings and he was completely persuaded. People smiled back at her as her professional and sensible shoes clicked on the floor steadily. She called hello to people and greeted them by name, passing Kingsley and grinning at him broadly, as was custom, and he grinned back. "Good morning, Hermione," he said.

"Good Morning, Kingsley," she said back, walking past to the elevator. It was empty; there were few people here at this time of morning who needed to use it and hadn't. She stepped inside the small, comfy area and pressed the button that said _9_ on it. The gates closed, and the familiar feeling of her stomach dropping to the soles of her feet welcomed her. She smiled as her stomach rose again when the elevator proudly announced her Level and Department. The gates opened, and she took in the sight she saw every morning.

There were pictures of all Magical Schools in the world - over two thousand different paintings - hanging on the wall, side-by-side, all with different frames. Some frames were big, some were small; some gold, some silver, some bronze; some wooden, some metallic. They all suited their painting perfectly. The walls behind them, not that you saw them at first sight, were a pale yellow, cheery but not overwhelming. The floor was tiled with mosaic-looking tiles of different shades of brown, and the ceiling hung simply light fixtures, homey, and with square lamp covers, so as to not over-do the welcomed effect. There were black-rimmed furniture with creamy white cushions that lined the walls underneath the paintings in some spots. People spoke in friendly tones here - if you didn't, you didn't belong on the floor. She saw, as was usual, the chestnut desk at the end of the hall, which split into two different hallways, and she saw Mz Edelweiss already scribbling a note and putting it on Malfoy's clipboard - an assignment. Malfoy's platinum hair was combed neatly, as always, and his pointed chin was no longer caught in a haughty jutting-out phase. But she'd seen him like this for two years now, when he'd taken up the job three years after the war ended, and was used to it. Nodding to him, she said, "Malfoy."

He nodded back, already going off to finish his task. "Granger."

Hermione walked up to Mz. E's desk and said, after Draco was gone, "You sent him off early."

She snorted. Her ebony hair was streaked with gray and her face was wrinkled, but good-humoured, she was. "Need to get stuff done," she said, "And that's what assistants are for."

"Doing your work?" she asked, her voice laughing without laughter.

Mz. E didn't bat an eyelash. "Yup," she said, "Or they're for nothing else. You better get to work. I saw McLaggen drop off an arseload of papers already."

There was no use getting offended at anything Mz. E said, and Hermione new that from experience - she was blunt and believed beating around the bush was a 'pussy's sport'. Sensitivity, to her, was cowardice. She'd been in Gryffindor. This had not surprised Hermione in the least. But, at the thought of McLaggen dropping off a 'butt'-load of papers, she repressed a groan, waved her goodbye, and turned to follow the right hallway. She walked along the now-painting-bare walls, and, next to a poster of 'The Golden Trio' (which was placed outside the offices of Harry, Ron and herself), she placed her hand on her doorknob and twisted it, entering.

The expected office came into view. The Ministry's library was nothing compared to Hermione's office. The walls were lined with bookshelves; her desk, in the middle of the room and facing away from the door, had a bookshelf growing out of it that touched the ceiling, and on the back of that was another bookshelf. All furniture was mahogany, and filled with books. Her desk was filled with papers, of course, but the rest of the room was filled with books. She had a desk lamp that matched the chandelier, a small sort of paisley-patterned lamp shade, with the pattern being red-and-gold. Her room had window, just on, that she had a short bookcase under that reached the sill and a tiny bookcase over that reached the ceiling. The window's curtains only came as far down as the sill, too, and were white and lacy, easy-going, like the light that shone through them. Her carpet was soft and comfortable, and she often took her shoes off under her desk when her feet got hot, and she'd run her toes through the plush flooring.

She normally loved the sight of her office, but today, there was a stack of papers so high as to block the third row of her bookshelf sitting in the middle of it. She sighed, and sat down in her desk chair (fit for a queen), and took the stapled-together stack of papers off the top. She read the title:

_Lucius Malfoy_

She raised her eyebrows. She continued reading.

_The council for the Wizengamot has scheduled the release of Lucius Malfoy from the Wizard prison, Azkaban, for 11/1/2003, after showing distinct signs of a C.O.H. There have been no definite changes in views as of yet. Services are required, of Head equivalency, for the following infractions:_

Tomorrow! Lucius Malfoy was going to be released tomorrow! After distinct signs of a change of heart! And the Infractions list was massive, nearly twenty pages just for now-crimes against Muggle-borns, and several more pages for now-crimes against House Elves. And even more for against half-breeds, Wizards/Witches included. And the stack of papers under that was about the usual height was under it, containing nothing but a few minor cases she could assign to the Trainees, who would gladly do the job, and do it well, as most people with enthusiasm could. What she really focused on was Lucius. It said 'of Head equivalency' and that meant her. So, she had to talk to Lucius Malfoy.

In Malfoy Manor.

Fantastic.

"You're kidding!"

Harry's exclamation didn't surprise her. "Nope," she said. "He really is going to be released.

Ron frowned. "You couldn't have told me this?"

"I just did, Ronald," she said.

"This is crazy," Harry announced, to no response.

"But this is the man who watched and probably enjoyed seeing you get tortured," argued Ron.

"It is. Your point?"

"So, he's a nasty prejudiced little -"

"It's my job to deal with people like that, Ronald."

"Yes, but I'm your boyfriend," he said, somewhat angrily. "Don't you think I should have known first?"

"Two responses," she replied. "One - I told you ad Harry together, because you are my_ boy_friend and he is my _best_ friend. And two - I've been a bit busy preparing for the visit, so -"

"You're visiting him?" He was definitely angry now.

"It's my job, Ronald!"

"Utterly insane," Harry proclaimed, trying to avert the subject once more. Ron ignored him and leaned forward, his arms on the table, his blue eyes intense.

"Shouldn't I come along?"

"I can handle myself," she said.

"But I should be there to help -"

"I don't need you to hold my hand, this is my _job_. Stop being so protective. It's annoying, like you think I can't take care of myself."

"I never said -"

"You didn't have -"

"That's enough!" Harry said with finality. "If you're going to fight like an old married couple, at least be one first, okay? Now, I want to eat my lunch, if it's alright with the two of you."

Ron looked down at his tray of the Ministry's cafeteria food and Hermione did too - she grimaced. Today's 'Tuna Surprise' was disgusting-looking, gray and lumpy, like bad mashed potatoes with no butter or cheese. "Ick," she said. "Why do you want to eat this?"

Harry laughed, obviously relieved he'd managed to change the subject. "It's food, and I need nourishment."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Do you really need nourishment that badly?" she joked.

His laughing face turned somber. "Yes," he said.

"Why? What happened?" Hermione asked eagerly, bending forward to hear the Auror information, as she often did. Turning down an Auror position and revolutionizing the Ministry's insides had been the right career path for her, and she was sure of it, but she still itched to know about everything going on in her best friend's and her boyfriend's life.

Harry bent forward too, and whispered conspiratorially, "There's been another sighting."

"_What_? Who? Where? When? Did anyone get -"

"Nobody got hurt," Harry promised."It was actually in Azkaban that he was spotted by a prisoner, and everyone else in the cell block saw him run away once he'd been seen. It was yesterday."

"Who?"

"Theodore Nott."

"But he was at Hogwarts with us!"

"He had the Dark Mark on his left arm, he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and the prisoners all saw it."

"Are you sure they're not lying?"

"Their memories were correct, we checked."

"Wow." Hermione leaned back, almost falling off of her stool. She cursed the new seating in the cafeteria. The buzz of conversation around them was loud enough to cover their conversation, but she still felt their low voices were appropriate. "Does anyone know how he got in?"

"Nobody knows, and the Dementors are ticked off. No one knows how he got out, either - apparently, he rounded the corner and vanished."

"Does anyone know _why_?"

Harry shook his head. "We checked, and he spoke to nobody - just got in and out long enough to be seen and get away safely."

Ron stabbed his Tuna Surprise as if testing it for internal organs. Making sure it had none, he placed a bite in his mouth, and began to gag. Hermione laughed. "That's the first time I've seen you hate food," she said as his red hair bobbed up and down as he tried to swallow to ghastly food. And then, thinking back, she added, "Since I cooked the mushrooms in the tent."

Harry burst out laughing once more loudly, and dissolved whatever was left of the tension in the air while people gave them odd looks. And then Hermione had to join in when Ron gave him a baleful look as he continued to gag on the putrescence he'd put into his mouth.


	2. Dresses

"Malfoy," Hermione called, walking briskly down the hall, her professional look on her face as she tried not to show how awkward she felt. What did you say when you needed a favor concerning a family member who went to Azkaban for being against you for seven years while the person you're saying it to has hated you for that amount of time and tended to avoid you at work? Malfoy, on the other hand, turned and his platinum hair caught the light. He had grown much taller - as had she. But she didn't bother with heights, and strode right up to him. "I need a favor," she said.

"I'm not your assistant," Draco pointed out. Hermione, expecting him to say something like that, expected it to also be said in a harsh tone - but the tone was simply conversational.

"This isn't about work. Well, my work. And, I suppose yours, but..." Godric, what was wrong with her? She couldn't talk! "Your father's getting out of jail."

"Yes," he said, bemused. "And?"

"You know what my job is," she said.

"And you know mine."

There was a flash of the Draco she knew in his eyes now. Not the prejudiced Draco, the Draco who enjoyed seeing others struggle in an amusing - not painful - way. He'd hated seeing her tortured, it was just words he liked to see people struggle with, not pain. "No, I... I need to talk to your father and get him to completely change his mind of his preset opinions and prejudices and get him to have a complete change of heart because I've been assigned it because It's of Head equivalency and he's committed over a hundred infractions of laws passed in the last five years and -"

"Shut up, Granger." It wasn't said rudely, but more like a 'please-stop-talking-I-get-it' kind of tone. "I'll tell him you'll drop by... in three days."

"Three days?"

"Give him some time to enjoy his freedom before you question everything he believes," said Draco, and she was pleased at how serious he sounded. It meant he was taking this as a reality.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

"Anything else, or can I leave?"

"How are you treating Lolly?"

Draco blinked; it seemed he'd forgotten about his House Elf. "Oh, um... okay, I guess, I'm not around much. I taught her how to play chess," he added.

Hermione smirked. "Ron could beat her."

Draco seemed to bite the inside of his cheek, and nodded mutely.

"I like the respect you're showing," she told him truthfully.

"I have to," he said, seemingly before he could stop himself. "Or I'll get fired, and it's not like I'm going to get promoted or find another job."

She studied him closely for several seconds, looking at how his cheekbones had become more pronounced and his face had lost all of the childish roundness it had once had. His skin was more tan than it had been. but still very pale, and he had bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't been sleeping. He did, however, look physically healthy. But Hermione was still worried. "Are you alright?"

There! Draco that she knew came back, and he sneered. It wasn't, however, to the degree it had been; though she was still glad it was the characteristic look he'd given her throughout their school days, it wasn't as if it appeared on his face naturally. For some reason, Hermione didn't like that. "I'm fine, Granger," he said, his voice suggesting he needed no help from anyone.

"Then I'll leave you to be fine on your own." She frowned, not convinced he was - the circles under his eyes were bruise-like purple and looked etched into his skin. "Thanks for the favor. Enjoy your time with your family."

"I will," he responded right away, a glimmer of excitement and a flash of hope filling his eyes. "But don't blame me if he tries to kill you," he added, noticing he'd answered too fast and too eagerly.

Hermione, however, was touched. He really cared so much about his family he probably hadn't been able to sleep - hence the purple bags. The remark was also not very harsh - it wasn't a death threat, it was more like a joke. "I won't," she said. "Bye and thanks, Malfoy."

"Not a pr- I mean, just don't expect this makes us bosom buddies."

She laughed quietly to herself as she left the man standing in the hallway - a man who she'd always thought was only working on this floor for loss of other jobs. Apparently, though, he really was ready for the full-scale integration. He just needed a bit of a push. "I won't."

"So, how'd it go with Malfoy?"

Hermione watched as Ginny spun in front of her mirror, her swollen stomach creating a large bump in the midsection of the silvery-golden dress she'd tried on. Her skin was aglow with the glow many pregnant women acquired, and she smiled as her now-short red hair swished about her face. "It went well," she told her. "He was very cooperative, and almost respectful."

"Almost?"

"Well, in all honesty, he seemed more bemused than respectful."

Ginny frowned, but her brown eyes, so similar to Hermione's, stayed locked on her reflection on the glass. "Bemused like he thought it was funny that someone like you dared speak to him?"

Hermione laughed and Ginny smiled at her well-taken joke. "It does sound like what he'd do," she said, "back then, during the war."

"Back then? He's not the exact same belittling arrogant bastard as before?"

"He works on my floor, doesn't he?"

Ginny frowned; she'd not been joking this time, but Hermione, unusually for her, had been.

They were sitting in a gown shop, the changing rooms behind them a few years and the entire space decorated with glitter strewn carelessly over a shaggy white carpet with beige walls, hung with silver bows. She supposed it was to look soft and elegant, but the effect was rather unappetizing, and the dresses did not have the greatest designs. Ginny's, however, was very well-made and though a maternity dress, it was still stunning.

The brown eyes of Harry's bride and the soon-to-be-mother of his children were worried, but pleased; she gave the dress one last twist before turning to Hermione. Changing the subject, she asked, "Does it look good?"

Hermione said, "It looks great. Perfect for the theme."

Ginny grinned. "Just think," she said. "Neville and Luna getting married!"

They both laughed. "You and Harry beat them," Hermione said, as if it was a contest.

Ginny's grin slipped for a moment, and Hermione remembered why she ought not to have said what she just had; Harry had whisked Ginny away to wed her less than two weeks after the end of the war, deathly afraid that something else would happen to him or would come after her. But, five years into peace, they were still perfectly happy with the elopement, though Mrs. Weasley was royally miffed she hadn't been able to plan it ("A Godsend, how long do you think it'd've taken?" Ginny had commented afterward). And then Ginny's grin returned, and Hermione knew she was also considering that she had to give up a full Quidditch season while pregnant, and Hermione knew how important Ginny's position as Seeker on the now-five-year-champions of the Quidditch World Cup, the Chudley Canons. She also knew that Harry's job as an Auror was why they'd waited so long to have children - when he might disappear any day, did they want their kids going fatherless? But after a safe five years, they'd decided they could afford the risk. Ginny's thoughts seemed to have followed the exact same route as Hermione's, because she said, "We did beat them. We beat everyone. And we'll be the first to have kids."

Hermione smiled. "And you'll be great parents," she assured her friend. "The maid of honor gown is quite flattering," she added, looking at the dress that caressed Ginny's body effortlessly.

Ginny smiled back. "Now try on your bridesmaid dress," she ordered, pointing to the dress draped over the back of the chair Hermione was sitting in. Hermione took her second look at the dress and made a sort of mix between a snort and snarl. "Luna did _not_ approve of this dress."

Ginny grinned cheekily. "No, but I did," she said, her voice perfectly chipper. "And be glad Luna didn't. I swear it'd be a giant carrot if she'd approved of it."

Hermione couldn't hold back her laugh, and reluctantly stood and gingerly placed the dress over her arm as if garbage. "Oh, come on," she said. "It's a little revealing, so what?"

Hermione threw hr a dirty look and turned her back on her friend, walking the maybe twelve feet into the dressing room. The enclosed space was sort of welcoming, and she drew the greenish curtain so she was concealed, and began to strip of her clothing. "I dislike revealing clothing," she shouted to the red-head.

"Try it on and it won't seem so revealing," Ginny laughed at her over the curtain, her voice only slightly muffled by the curtain in the way. "I'm betting if I were to rip that curtain down right now, you'd think the dress was positively Muslim -"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione squealed, clutching her shirt to her chest - and then, distracted, she asked, "Muslim?"

"You know, showing no skin but that around the eyes and hands? I think," she said, "I'm not Muslim. But the reasoning still stands that that curtain is the only barrier between your over-shown self and this room, which anyone could walk in -"

"We booked it privately, Gin!" she called, making sure to change out of her clothing quickly, hating how she felt so bare in the few moments it took her to sort out how to put the dress on. She grimaced. "Can this be called a dress?" she muttered.

"It certainly can," said Ginny, her voice closer now. "And you, my shy friend, are going to try it on."

"I'm not shy," Hermione scoffed, hesitantly slipping the dress over her shoulders.

"You are, too. Who waited almost three days to accept the invitation of a famous Quidditch player to the Yule Ball?"

"That's not shy, that's careful. And look how it turned out." Hermione looked down at her body, not pleased whatsoever.

"You broke _his_ heart, not the other way around."

"I did it for _your_ brother, you might be thankful," she retorted, taking a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

"Alright!" Hermione could even hear Ginny rubbing her hands with excitement. Her stomach coiled as she swept the curtain aside, and saw herself in the mirror. Go, but it was revealing. She was practically nude. The dress was of blueish-grayish fabric, which did cover her breasts and womanly areas, but it was see-through when it came to her stomach and back and waist and it showed her thighs before fading into opaqueness just before the knees. She felt as if walking around in a living spider web. She hated the feeling she was dressing like a, as they say, slut - but at the same time, it mesmerized her. She had never seen her body in a dress designed specifically for showing it off. This dress made her realize she had a figure she'd never tried to get and a balance between feminine beauty and almost feline strength. She was severely out of her comfort zone, but knowledge was kind of her thing, and she realized that the comfort zone didn't hold all the answers. If it did, they wouldn't have gone Horcrux hunting all those years ago instead of go to Hogwarts. Ginny's eyes appraised her, and while she pronounced it glorious, clearly holding back laughter, Hermione went to model in front of the mirror. She twirled as Ginny had, her own eyes raking up and down the dress. "You really like it?" asked Ginny.

"Ew, no," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose.

And then, from the fireplace on the other side of the room, the flames burned emerald green and rose high into the air, roaring, and Ron leapt out of them. His red mane was slightly unruly and getting as long as Bill's. She smiled in greeting - but when he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her, she remembered what she was wearing, and she flushed scarlet down to her collarbone. Ron's blue eyes seemed to watch with disapproval as she wrapped her arms around herself, hating how vulnerable she felt.

"Right..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably, and he tugged at his already-loose collar.

"What do you want, Ron?" asked Ginny, completely oblivious to the awkwardness in the room.

"I just... erm, Harry wanted to know when you'd be done," he said.

Ginny waved it off like an old event unimportant to her. "A few more hours. There's more dresses here and even more shops."

"Right. Erm, um..." he seemed unable to tear his gaze from Hermione's might-as-well-be-nude figure, and she couldn't stop blushing.

Ginny finally followed her brothers' gaze and then got a dimple in her right cheek from smiling lopsidedly, as she did when teasing someone. "You like it?" she asked innocently, motioning for Hermione to spin. Hermione did not, and, aggravated, Ginny stood, placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, and pushed her toward her boyfriend, though she somewhat fought, still too embarrassed to move by herself. "There," she said finally. "I'm going to look for more dresses. You two... enjoy that one."

"Don't you dare," said Hermione, whipping her head around to glare, but her younger friend had already disappeared mischievously into the racks of fluffy skirts and tight bodices. Whipping her head back to Ron's, she followed his gaze to the topmost portion of the dress, and turned redder still.

"Um, s-so... d-do you... y'know... like it?" she stammered, cautiously unwrapping her arms from around her torso to let him get a full view.

"Why are you going around naked?" he demanded suddenly.

"I'm not!" she said defensively. "In case you haven't noticed, there _is_ cloth around my body, especially the parts where you're staring, thank you."

"That's where the only cloth is," he retorted, eying the dress as if it was evil. "I don't like you wearing it."

"Well, it's my body?"

"And you're my girlfriend," he argued. "And so showing off people your body is a good way of repaying me for -"

"For what?" she hissed, her blood boiling.

"For taking care of you those nights two years ago!"

Hermione flinched with the recognition, but even more so when she realized he had a good reason. But still: "It's my body and it could be my dress, and it's not like I'm parading around trying to get people to take me for a ride, Ronald. I'm more mature -"

"More mature? That dress says anything but -"

"Do you really think someone immature would put this on?" she said. "Do you really think a thirteen-year-old might've donned it? I'm twenty-three now, Ronald, I can wear what I want, I don't need my mummy to dress me."

"If you're going around in things like that, you do!"

"It''s my body and my life, Ron!"

"And you're my girlfriend!"

"Exactly! I'm your girlfriend, not your property! And as your girlfriend, I'd've thought you'd have loved seeing me in this!"

Ron seemed stumped, red-faced and shouting as they were, and momentarily lost his guard - and in an instant, Hermione had shoved him back into the flames and had thrown the powder directly at his pants, hoping it soiled them. "The Burrow!" she shouted, watching as he faded when the flames died from their roar.

"I didn't say to start a war," said Ginny nonchalantly, sitting on the couch, flipping aimlessly through a magazine. Hermione clenched her fists at how casual she was. "The last thing I need is to get caught in the cross-fire."


	3. Nightmare

"Ronald is at perfect liberty to think whatever he likes," Hermione announced, shoving a book forcefully into a slot on her bookcase. "I _really_ couldn't care less. But it was just a dress, and he had no need to become so territorial about it."

"Well, would it bother you if he was walking around practically nude?" Harry demanded, leaning against her desk, his arms folded across his chest, his green eyes following her through his glasses.

"What are the chances of him doing that?" she snorted, shoving yet another book almost too forcefully into its slot. She'd never do it with too much force. After all these years, shoving her books into place had become second nature. When she was angry, she'd use only so much force, never risking damage to the books, just expressing her anger.

"What are the chances of _you_ doing that?" Harry responded, his voice perfectly neutral.

"I have a best friend who likes revealing clothing and who is pregnant, so I can hardly say no, now can I?" she flung at him, still not looking in his direction for fear of meeting his gaze. "You'd never make Ron walk around wearing something like that. And it's not like I was walking up and down the street, begging people to 'take me', or whatever it is, and -"

"I probably would make him do that," mused Harry lightly. "For a bet, or something. That'd be an interesting bet."

"Harry!" she spun around, a book still in her arms, her eyes wide with shock. "You'd never!"

Harry laughed, and Hermione knew he probably would. "Don't you dare even think about it," she warned, turning back to the bookcase and placing the last book in its position.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"It'd make him awfully uncomfortable, don't you think?" she retorted angrily, flitting over to her desk and ruffling in the drawers for some papers on Goblin Rights.

"That's what you'd worry about? Not someone else suggesting -"

"Harry, even if they did, Ron'd say no," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's a lot of things, but not a cheater." She found the papers and closed the drawer, sitting in her chair and shuffling them so she could pretend to seem busy - anything to not meet Harry's eyes.

"Would you say no, though?" Harry asked softly, after a minute of awkward silence.

"Of course I'd say no!" Hermione screeched furiously, meeting his surprised gaze without hesitation now, the fury in her chest unconquerable.

"How does Ron know that?"

"Does he really think there's even the slightest chance of me ever betraying him? I'm not some low-life desperate girl waiting for 'someone better'! I've been his best friend for seven years and his girlfriend for five, does he think my loyalty might change because of... boredom, or something else imaginary?"

Harry held his hands up as if to say he surrendered. "Ron's territorial, Hermione, he won't realize that. He's always been shown up by someone or other, remember?" he looked at her and some of the angry red from her cheeks faded. "His brothers were always better than him, I was famous, you were smart, and he was just the tag-along."

"He was never -"

Harry interrupted her. "Maybe he's just scared he'll get shown up again."

Hermione had always thought running a bookstore would be great; but then again, Healing was also a profession she'd like to strive after. But bringing Wizarding peace over the tainted world they were in was what the entire war had been about, and she wasn't going to adapt because it was over - you never know when the next might come along. Her work, and Ron's and Harry's, had been decided before they'd taken them. Hermione had turned down the Auror's job, to the shock of everyone but Harry and Ron, and had chosen the more up-front but still sitting-behind-a-desk job. Though now, she questioned what her motives possibly could've been, because Malfoy Manor, in all its splendor and elegance, was as frightening as it was beautiful. The same albino peacock strutted consistently above her head as she knocked on the door, having passed the always-open gate. There was an immediate answer. The door was pulled open by none other than a House Elf, its eyes huge and glassy, disproportional to its small and withered old body, but one of them was surrounded by black swelling. She frowned immediately, and fiercely, too - but at the Elf's look of shock, she remembered she wasn't mad at the elf, but the one who'd done this to him. Arranging her features into a look of polite neutrality, she said, "I am Hermione Granger. I have an appointment -"

"Ah, yes," said the elf, his voice lower than normal elf voices - almost a human's. "Master Malfoy said for Rudy to bring Mistress Granger to him whence she arrived. Come, Miss."

Hermione followed the elf immediately as it turned and walked down the hallway, her frown slipping back in place. The lighting in this hall was almost blue-ish in its darkness, the torches that lined the walls flickering unsteadily. The house was in a bad case of disrepair - it seemed there had been a duel. The walls had peeling paint over crumbling walls, the floor was cracked and chipped, and one crooked picture hung with a splintered wooden frame at the end of the hall, on a green door with a silver knob. As they drew closer, she began to make out shapes in it. There were Lucius and Narcissa and Draco, and they were all ignoring the camera completely, and they were in a struggle. Draco was pushing away the body of someone she couldn't see, though it appeared female, and Lucius and Narcissa were tugging on it, trying to pull it closer. When she looked closer, Narcissa only had her hands wrapped around the arm, but wasn't applying any force; she was faking. Draco looked hell-bent on getting the person away, his eyes wide with terrified determination, but Lucius was looking haughtily at whom he was pulling, as if pulling her into his midst would cause her to suffer from his pompous manners. Wondering who the girl was, and not realizing she'd come to a stop in front of the portrait, she narrowed her eyes, trying to see.

There, on the girl's wrist.

She stifled a gasp and looked at her own wrist and the bracelet that sat upon it - the bracelet identical to that of the one in the picture.

And then Hermione watched as Lucius succeeded and brought Hermione into the picture, her bushy hair smoothed, oddly, and her lips crying out for help, and then there was a flash of green light in the otherwise mono-colored photo, and picture-Hermione fell immediately from view, and Draco cried out, and Hermione, the real one, saw Lucius's wickedly delighted face as he looked down upon the girl he'd killed with the wand that was still outstretched.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had bolted. Rudy had mysteriously vanished, and sprinting through a random door, she found herself in a room full of portraits, Lucius in every one, all of his faces glaring at her with anxiousness of the deed she'd seen. They all laughed, and the silence, because they were photographs, not true portraits, pressed so loudly on her ears she felt they might burst. Her pulse only accelerated, its speed unhealthy now, she could feel her body reacting to the painful drumming of it as it smacked against her ribs over and over, as all the Lucius's raised their wands and pointed them at her, and with a warped smile sent a jet of green light -

Hermione sat bolt upright in her bed, giving a sort of strangled scream, her skin doused with a cold sheen of sweat. She gasped for oxygen, her heart still thrumming unnaturally, and then exhaled loudly, repeating until she could hear over the constant pulsing that resounded in her ears. She quivered under the covers, which felt too cold and too damp to be comfortable, and closed her eyes, trying to shake off the image, only to have it replay itself behind her eyelids. In response, she jerked her eyes open again, and looked around the room, still breathing heavily. The walls were the same, the floor was the same. Her sheets were the same, her blanket was the same, her door was the same. The ceiling was the same. Her dresser, her closet, everything was the same. But she felt alienated from the place, as if it was a tomb. Throwing the sweat-dampened covers off of herself, she rose from the bed and forgetting her slippers on the floor, headed directly for the door.

Leaving her bedroom was a good thing, she guessed, but the rest of her empty apartment felt exactly as it had. She wished fervently that she'd taken Ron up on his offer to live with him. But, because she was oh-so independent, she just _had_ to live on her own. The cold of her kitchen stung her feet and she tried to walk on her toes with light steps, wincing every time the linoleum engulfed the warmth in then. She walked through the kitchen into the dining room. The hardwood floor wasn't much better, but in here, she saw her fireplace. She thought wryly of her options. Stay here, alone, afraid to close her eyes because of her dreams? Or go tell Harry and Ron?

Harry and Ron, most definitely. And the floor being so cold over here had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it, she told herself.

She was about to step into the fireplace, and then remembered how ridiculous she was being. Go to the Burrow in the middle of the night? For what, a nightmare? She'd tell Ron and Harry at work, when she was more awake. Also, she was still in her pajamas, and barefoot. What a sight she'd be, waltzing in as if she owned the place, going right to Ron's room. Ugh, to his room. How would that look to everyone else?

It was just a simple nightmare. Shuddering slightly as the cold seeped through her feet to her ankles, she hugged her pajamas close to her and turned back to her kitchen. She spied the clock over her stove. It was only four fifty-two a.m.! She'd never be able to get to sleep, and she knew it. She groaned out loud at the unfairness of it all, and decided almost immediately she might as well take a shower. Plodding quickly through the chilly rooms, she wished it weren't such a cold October. But it was, she reminded herself, almost November, and at least they hadn't gotten any snow yet. Making her way through her 'cozy', not small, kitchen, she entered her bathroom and flipped on the lights. It was a bland, beige-colored bathroom, and its simplicity was welcoming. Sighing with gratitude when the hot water started by itself, she stripped down and got into the shower, closing the curtain only for the sake of not getting her towels wet.

What had the picture meant? Why on earth had she dreamt of Lucius murdering her? And why had Narcissa pretended to help him; why had Draco fought back with such animation? Nothing made sense.

As the hot water relaxed the tense muscles in her back and neck, she felt her own mind relax. She was just stressed over the task she had to do tomorrow. That was all. Her memories of him had become twisted over the war period and peace period after it and she'd been subconsciously thinking of a worst-case scenario. She closed her eyes and let the jets of hot water run through her hair and down her shoulders, the smoke curling into wisps around her. She was just stressed. It was as easy as that.

She had no idea how long she was in the shower, just enjoying the streams of water coating her soft skin, but when the hot water began to run out she emerged and wrapped herself in a towel, feeling like she was nude in the middle of the tundra. Rushing to her room, she quickly dressed in appropriate clothing, noting how, out her window, the light was beginning to grow more and more prominent above the city around her. Her warm, brown cardigan was extremely comfortable and still professional-looking, and she put on tan slacks, so as not to clash. She hesitantly chose a dark brown pair of heels, the actual heel part higher than what she normally wore, a full three and a half inches, but she could wear and walk in them.

Going once more to the kitchen and flicking on the lights, she made her normal pot of coffee, filled Crookshanks's food dish and gave him some more water, and sat down to the Daily Prophet. Avoiding the article about Lucius's latest release, she scanned and saw the announcement of Luna and Neville's wedding date. Christmas Eve. How absolutely romantic. She smiled and took a sip of her beverage, listening to the uneven _crunch_ of Crookshanks eating.

She glanced out the window at the vibrant sun, rising one more day to give life to the planet. Rather what she was doing, she thought, but instead of giving life, she was preventing the taking of it for prejudicial reasons. Peace-makers. The sun gave life, and she kept it going. "Good morning, partner," she said to it serenely, bringing the mug to her lips once more.


	4. Future

"Hello, Neville," said Hermione, smiling broadly at the man who was rushing down the hall towards her. "What are you up to up here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"

"Wanted to send an owl," he huffed, his face glowing with a happiness she'd only seen when he'd announced his and Luna's engagement. "But it would seem better in person."

"Well, tell me," she said, turning her body fully in his direction, preparing for the end to her curiosity.

"It's my mum and dad," he said, coming to a stop in front of her.

"What about them?"

"They're discovering a counter-curse, Hermione! They'll be fixed! They'll... they'll remember me!"

"Oh, Neville!" Hermione dropped her load of papers she'd been carrying and hugged him fiercely. "That's wonderful! How soon?"

"About a year. Luna and I've agreed to wait until they can get to know her and come to the wedding."

"There's a problem with that," she said, pulling back. "Ginny's maid of honor, and she'll need a new dress."

"Why?" he was confused now.

"She's got three months until the baby's born, and it'll be twelve months or so before your parents are cured, and let's add another for getting to know Luna. She's got a maternity dress now, she'll need a new one."

"Oh." And then he laughed. "Well, she loves to shop, and it'll come in handy when you and Ron get married."

Hermione stiffened without meaning to, uncomfortable thinking like that. Marriage? Sure, it was nice when other people did it, but she somewhat shuddered at the thought of sharing everything with Ron. and of course it would be with Ron; who else would she possibly marry? But knowing Neville had meant no harm, she forced the smile back on her cheeks. "She does love to shop."

"Well, I've got to tell Harry," he said, beginning to turn around.

"What about Ron?"

"I've already told him. Ran into him on level three. Bye!"

"Bye." She said the word as pleasantly as she could, watching as he jogged his way back to the elevator and then bending down to pick up her papers, she felt her face turn red. So Ron had known this? And hadn't told her? It was possible Neville had reached her before Ron, but knowing Neville, he'd probably stopped to tell everyone he knew - and he knew a lot of people - the news, and that gave Ron ample time to tell her. Or had he thought she wouldn't want him to talk to her because she was still mad? Or was he still mad enough to keep it from her? Or was he too busy to tell her? If he wasn't busy enough to have the time to stop and listen to Neville, he could easily have come and told her.

And suddenly there was a head with platinum blond hair bobbing in front of hers, the body attached to it picking up her papers with her, but twice as fast, not worried about other things inside his head. She noticed he'd set down a steaming cup of tea about three feet away, and the tea was inside a mug labelled "Mz E'. So he'd been on another pointless errand. But the surprise of him helping her - or any Muggle-born for that matter - was enough to stop her hands from moving and make her eyes flicker to his pale and pointed face. His slender fingers caught the papers that had slid from her now-taut grasp and had placed them _in_ a pile. His grey eyes flickered up to her own brown ones and he, too, paused. "What?" he asked eventually, as the air grew more and more awkward.

"You're helping me."

"It's my job to help, Granger," he said, sighing and continuing to sort the papers. "And the more I delay going to Mz E, the less I have to wander around getting paid for doing nothing."

"That's very... moral... of you," she said at last, as he picked up the rather thick stack and placed it in her arms.

"That's been known to happen," he said, straightening from his crouch the same time she did, after he'd grabbed the cup and she'd settled the papers. "You're still coming tonight, right?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "It's my job."

And then he smirked a smirk that seemed oddly out of place on the features she'd seen smirk like that so many times. "You tend to use that excuse a lot," he said. "And I'll see you tonight. Do you need me to pick you up, or -"

"_What_?"

"You seem to pop in at the worst moments, Weasley," said Draco, walking carelessly away from the tension-filled and awkward scene he'd accidentally created. Hermione glared at the back of his head as he rounded the corner, slapping him in her mind. Ron's mouth was agape and if they could have been, smoke would be leaving his ears, his face as red as hers had been just moments before, standing by the elevator. Mz E's desk was empty, unusually, but Draco seemed to know here she was, as he'd disappeared - or maybe he just wanted to get away.

"_Why_ did he offer to pick you up and _why_ is he going to see you tonight?" Ron demanded angrily, his voice echoing in the hall around them faintly. "And _where_ are you going with him? And _when_? And _why the hell_ -"

"Relax, Ronald," she said, her voice and mind exhausted with this already. "I'm going to his house -"

"You're going to that prat's _house_ tonight? _Hermione_!"

She was digging herself further in a hole by trying to claw her way up and raking the dirt away with her fingers. "To meet his father -"

"You're already meeting his _parents_?"

"No, I need to speak with his father -"

"About what, where his son's been taking you on -"

"Shut _up_, Ronald, and _listen_!"

"No! I'm not -"

"," she said, in less than a two seconds, but it didn't make his curious to hear it coherently. Apparently, all he'd heard was heart - and that really had him going.

"He has no heart, you little -"

"You keep your voice down here, Ronald -"

"Why should I when -"

"Either you stop and listen to me or _we're through_!"

He paused mid-word and looked so terrified she felt the guilt at her words pummeling her to death from the inside out. "I'm not cheating on you, Ron. How could you... how could you even think me capable of that?" The tears in hers eyes were at the disbelief of her own monstrous nature, but the sentence had enough emotion in it without her voice laden with tears.

"Well then why -"

"I need to speak with his father about his supposed Change of Heart," she whispered the words, not daring to use her voice for fear of its breaking. "I've told you this, Ronald, I've told you everything."

She could see that the fear from her outburst was still etched into every nook and cranny of his face, and his eyes glimmered with the pain of the idea - she took a step closer, and he took a step back.

"I'm sorry," she choked, "I didn't... you wouldn't listen to me, I... I never should have worn that dress, I never should have said it, I'm so... so sorry..."

But she could see it wasn't registering in his head. Taking another step toward him and watching as he took yet another back, she felt a tear escape her left eye and travel down her cheek, warming and wetting the trail it left behind on her skin. With that tear, the onslaught of them came, and though she blinked furiously to hold them back, she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried. She closed her eyes altogether, but there was still moisture leaking out of her tear ducts and running along her nose and down her lips, leaving them tasting salty.

And then arms as warm as her tears wrapped themselves around her and a familiar chest let her lean her head on it. Breath she'd come to know so well washed over her hair and there was a rumbling in Ron's throat when he said, "I'm sorry, I guess I just... I'm..."

"I love you," she said quietly.

His cheek rested on her head gently. "I love you, too."

"Then why don't you trust me?" She barely managed to squeeze the words out past the lump in her throat.

"I do trust you, it's me I don't trust."

"That makes no sense, and I'm highly logical, allowing me to see past extraneous detail and perceive clearly what others overlook."

There was a pause. "I don't know what you just said," he responded, "But do you think I'd freak out that badly if I thought you could really love me?"

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a genius. Do you see now why I'm having problems with this?"

"It's not that you don't trust yourself, it's that you don't believe me," she said. "I love you, can you not understand that I mean it?"

Speaking into his shirt and not seeing his eyes made conversation a lot more difficult, but she'd be damned before she pulled out of this embrace.

"I know you mean it, Hermione, it's that you might not in the future."

"I'll always love you. Okay?"

He sighed, and she felt the contented purring in his chest that was his now-settled heart. "Okay."

"So you two've made up," said Harry casually, sitting down next to Ron and diagonal from Hermione. "Did you hear the news about Neville's parents?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

"No," said Ron.

"What do you mean?" she asked, startled. "Neville said he told you on level three before he came to tell me."

"I've not been on level three today, Hermione," he said, baffled. "What's Neville's news?"

She vaguely heard Harry telling Ron about Neville's parents - she was as confused as her boyfriend. Why had Neville lied? There was something bothersome about that, Neville didn't just lie. That wasn't what Neville did, he didn't work like that. She couldn't understand it... like she couldn't understand her dream.

Her dream. "Hey, guys?"

"Yes?" they chorused, giving each other cheeky grins before turning back to her.

She shook her head. "You two sound like Fred and George when you do that." She knew that her statement wouldn't be received poorly; they really did, and Ron was over mourning his brother and was now in the 'he wants us to celebrate he lived at all' stage. She continued, "Anyways, I've had a dream."

Harry made a tsk-tsk kind of sound. "Sleeping on the job, Hermione... not good."

Hermione reached across the table and slapped his shoulder playfully. "Well -"

" 'I have a dream,' " Harry mocked, " 'that one day, white men and black men shall be united in brotherhood.' "

"Who are you pretending to be?" Ron asked.

"You're kidding!" Hermione exclaimed. "Martin Luther King Jr.!"

"That dude that started the Lutheran Church back in the Renaissance?"

"No," she said, rolling her eyes, "Not the wizard, the Muggle who preached for black and whites to have equal rights."

"Why didn't they?"

"Why didn't Muggle-borns and pure-bloods have the same rights?" Hermione asked.

Ron thought for a moment, and then nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."

"So what was this dream about?" Harry asked.

"It was more of a nightmare, actually," she admitted.

All kidding vanished from Harry's face and his hand lay on top of hers protectively. "Tell."

And so she told.

When she had made sure she'd gone over every detail, Harry was shaking his head. "Not good," he said. "Definitely not good."

"It's just a stress dream, right?" she asked. "I mean because I'll be going back to the place where I was tortured."

"Then wouldn't your dream be about Bellatrix?" Ron mused.

"She's dead, Ron, even when unconscious I know that much."

"It's possible," he said, "But I'd feel safer if someone was with you."

"Draco will be there," she said.

"I stand by my statement," he said forcefully. "And Draco Malfoy doesn't count. And when did you start calling him Draco?"

"I still call him Malfoy," she said, "But we were talking about his father _and_ him so I called him by his first name so as to diffuse any confusion."

"Why not call him Ferret?" Ron suggested.

"Why not call you Weasel?" she retorted. "And Draco works on the floor that takes care of prejudices and hatred, which you two still seem to hold towards him. I dare say he'd be a fine protector, if needed."

"You're asking him to protect you over his father," Harry pointed out.

"I'm not asking him anything, but _I'd_ protect _him_ if _my_ father went absolutely bat-crap crazy and tried to kill a well-meaning visitor."

"Well-meaning visitor also applies to Jehovah's witness," said Harry.

"Oh, Merlin," she said, screwing up her nose in distaste. "I'm not like that - Ron, don't eat -"

but it was too late. Once again, Ron had dared try the lunch before Hermione had transfigured it into something truly edible (she sometimes wondered if the cafeteria did it on purpose, just to keep their transfiguration skills up and running). And again, he gagged, and Hermione and Harry had to laugh at his disgusted face.

* * *

**Sorry about the delay on Aftermath and Chemistry (from now on referred to as A&C), but I had a finished story and uploaded all at once, so I have to wait 59 days to post more. Again, I apologize, but why not entertain yourself with the story that caused this delay? And I don't usually do author's notes, only when alerting that a story will be lagged a bit due to other-story updates, because I view them as unprofessional and I like to be taken seriously. When I do do the notes, however, you'll know, because it is always in bold and I have some sort of strict rule against bold wording in the actual chapters. So! That's that, and once more, I apologize.**


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